


Blood and Dust

by JenniferMarie



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Inspired by Mobstertale, Murder, No Mercy Frisk, Older Frisk, POV Sans, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:57:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferMarie/pseuds/JenniferMarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monsters weren't doin so good, ain't been doin good since the war, but that don't mean things ever got easy. Until prohibition mind, now that was a stroke of luck, the Dreemurr family was one of the first to start runnin booze and that gave em the one thing humans respect, money. Doesn't mean there aren't those who'd rather monsters weren't rakin in the dough, might try to cut in on the profits, but that's where a few bones and a lotta bullets come in. You mess with the family and Sans will make an example out of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Dust

**Author's Note:**

> This story will only contain as much historical accuracy as is convenient to me.

  


  


Sans slotted the drum magazine into his tommy with a snick. He took his time easing back the bolt so it clicked as quiet as a whisper. He could hear the lot of em inside, chatting and passing a bottle around. He didn't bother poking his head up to the window, he knew there were seven and he didn't much care where they were, the tommy would take care of that. He was just waiting for the bottle finish up and for them to get a little sloppy. They were getting sloppy anyway, moving goods on this part of the docks. Even good-for-nothin layabouts knew these warehouses belonged to the Dreemurr Family. Then again, it had been a while since they'd made a statement. These new guns they'd acquired would certainly help in that department.

Sans popped the top button on his collar, loosened his tie and stretched his neck. Inside there was the clink of an empty bottle rolling across the floor and one of the meatheads laughed. A loud laugh. Sans hoped he enjoyed it, it would be his last.

He rested his finger on the trigger as he walked over to the door and tipped his hat up. His magic pulsed gently and cast a blue glow over the door before he pushed it open. He made em blue.

Three tried to run, pulling against the weight of their souls like they was draggin a hundred pounds on their back. The rest stood there like a bunch a pikers. He squeezed the trigger. He didn't have ears but it didn't stop his skull from ringing from the gun fire. That was the nice thing about magic, magic was nice an clean, an quiet. Their bodies jerked and shuddered as the lead whacked into em. He couldn't stop a grin from sneaking onto his face. He swept the lot of them twice to be safe before lettin up on the trigger and watching em slump over on the ground.

He made em blue then he made em red. He chuckled and moseyed over to what was left of em. It was a pretty big group for runnin bootleg and if it was a big purchase people'd be talkin about it already. He had heard em say they were waiten for a truck to come so he didn't have too long to gander. 

They had been hanging around a large crate, the side slotted like they would for circus animals. Movin animals wasn't good coin in general, and a terrible thing to end up bumped off for. He tapped the side of the crate with his foot but nothin moved inside. He moved around it watchin his step so his didn't get blood on his shoes, he had these ones nice and broken in, just how he liked em, it'd be a shame to have to throw em out. 

There was a small window on the front. He unlatched it and let it swing open, expecting a tiger or, a bunch of rabid dogs at least. Instead he only saw a human looking shape, pressed in the back corner of the box. They looked thin and small. They were watching him, their eyes as narrow as a sheet of glass and black as anything. They kinda had an asian look to them but maybe just narrow eyes, maybe a bit of a mutt, they didn't look a hell of a lot like anything specific except, maybe he wasn't too wrong about the rabid dog part. Either way this was some rotten filth. Movin people around like animals. Humans. He'da spit if he had it in him.

“hey, kiddo, if i let you outta there, yous got ta promise not to try anything funny, got it? i don't wanna hafta put a bullet in you. they're expensive.”

The figure nodded and shifted in the craft.

The crate was padlocked but it was nothin a little magic couldn't handle. He summoned a bone and slid it into the padlock then sank blue magic in it and ripped the bone out, watching with satisfaction as the metal snapped like cheap tin. He flicked the lock on to the floor and flipped the latch open and stepped back. The door creaked and swung open. He stepped back. The figure crawled out and slowly stood up, their face grimacing in pain as their body unfolded.

He fished a toothpick out of his vest pocket and bit down on it, rolling it between his teeth. “been in there a while?”

They were about his height, a little taller, five foot nothin, and thin as a rail. Their hair was a mess of brown, hard to tell if it was naturally messy or just in a state from being in a crate for god knows how long. They were wearing what could be politely called rags and were dirty from head to toe, smelled whiffy. Sans was glad he had stepped back. The kid studied him too. Neither of em said a word.

One of the meatbags groaned causin Sans raise the gun instinctually but when he looked over he saw that the lug was out cold, just waitin for ol St. Micheal to finish him off.

The kid went over to the groaner and squatted in front of him for a second, then stood and looked around. They spotted a length of wood laying against the wall, walked over and picked it up. Sans stepped a little further back, letting his finger drift over the trigger again. The kid walked back to the stiff, raised the stick and brought it down with a sickening crunch. Blood splattered across the floor and up the kid's front. It sprayed across the side of the crate. The kid did it again and again until the guys head looked like a bowl of offal and the warehouse was speckled with blood and brain. So much for St. Micheal. 

As he glanced up, he could see it was even on the ceiling. Lucky him, standing behind the kid he was clean as a whistle. He nodded appreciatively. This little mess would do wonders for their reputation, that was for certain. People would think twice before pushin into Dreemurr territory again. 

The kid dropped the bloody stick and let out a sigh. 

Sans raised his brows and snorted, “i like your style, kiddo. a bit flashy, sure, but it gets the job done.” He studied em for a while longer. They were still pretty young, not in nappies that was for certain but not full grown either, it was hard ta say how old they might really be. He had an idea. It was probably a bad idea but it would probably be interesting to say the least. “if ya want, i know where you can get cleaned up, a meal, maybe even some clothes what don't look like they was filched off a corpse.”

They glanced around the empty warehouse and then nodded.

“i gotta use magic though, you gotta problem with that?” 

They shook their head. 

He did his best to wipe the surprise from his face, humans weren't generally keen on magic from his experience, but this one was full of surprises. He led them back outside and quickly disassembled his tommy, putting the pieces in the trombone case he'd brought along. He'd had Alphys put secret compartments under the velvet and a passing glance would show only a scruffy trombone on faded greenish velvet. He snicked the catches closed and lifted it up with a groan. The kid was quiet the whole time, strange quiet, they moved like a cat too. It was unnerving, to say the least.

He glanced back at the kid, “we're a, gonna take a lil shortcut. so stick close behind me, don't stop walkin til i do or i don't know where you might end up. capiche?”

They nodded.

Sans shrugged and snapped his fingers. The snap was for show, it made him feel like he was doin a party trick. It made him chuckle. He walked through a gap of sorts, between places that only he could see, from the warehouse to a narrow alley maybe a mile away. The change in local would've shocked most humans, a few monsters too but the kid only slowly spun around their expression mildly curious.

“come on.” He lead them out of the alley and down the street, “welcome to ebott, nicest monster ghetto in the country, by that i mean, the only one in the country.” He stopped at a small store front and stepped inside. There was no one inside, but he hadn't expect there to be, it was late and only Wosh's tendency to forget to lock the door got them in in the first place. The tall, elevated counter came up to his chin, he sighed and reached up, tapping on the the bell which rang with a hearty ching. After a few moments there was a muffled thump and thud followed by someone clattering down the narrow set of stairs behind the counter.

Woshua appeared at the bottom the stairs and glared at Sans, the expression quickly smoothed into a stiff, polite smile when they saw it was him, “Woshua need?”

The kid finally pulled the door open and stepped inside. Woshua couldn't have looked more appalled if they tried. That alone made it worth all the trouble. “think you could sort out this kid for me, wosh?”

The little bathtub monster practically vibrated with excitement at the possibility of ridding the world of so much filth all in one go, “My pleasure! This way!” They hopped down a little set of steps and through a faded curtain, a little yellow canary fluttered after them.

“go on.” Sans nodded to the larger curtain on their side of the counter, “while wosh cleans you up off i'll pop down to the thrift shop an pick you up some clean duds. don't worry, the woshua's run a good shop.” He waited until they disappeared back into the bathhouse before he left the store. He went back to the ally an took a quick shortcut to stash his tommy gun and then to the thrift shop blocks over. 

The kid was his height so that was easy enough but they looked thin as a rail which wasn't as easy. He grabbed a pair suspenders along with a pair of loose brown pants, a grey button down that had once been white and faded threadbare vest with mismatched buttons. He gave the clerk his best smile and dropped a few names, getting a discount for his trouble. He threw the clothes over his arm and popped back over to the washhouse. He left the clothes on the counter and waited outside, watching the streets. It was near midnight now, he figured. Not many people out. A few horses and horse drawn wagon's went by, he leaned forward when a 1922 Hatfield Coupe drove by.

“new model, eh?” he grinned, Pap would be jealous. They didn't drive through this neighborhood very often. He glanced up past the awning to the sky, it was smoggy and the lights for the city ruined the view somethin awful but he could still see a few sparkles here and there. Made him smile. It had been a good day, all in all, he wasn't dead after all.

The bell over the wash-house door jangled as the kid pushed the door open and walked over to him. They looked half civilized for a human. Hair was shoulder length, still drippin wet, shirt and pants were too big but the suspenders helped there. It'd give em somethin to grow into.

“you hungry?” He asked.

They nodded.

“come on.” He nodded down the street.

The kid kept pace with him, maybe a half a step back. They passed a few monsters on the way, the kid always moved over for em. Sans liked that, rare in a human, though they mighta done that for anybody, it was hard to know. They hadn't been a crate their whole life they seemed to know the ins and outs of bein somewhat civilized.

He took em over to the Mett Diner and took a seat at the counter right next to the wall.

“how'zit goin, burg?” He asked.

The young cat slowly finished rollin a ragged cigarette and lit it with the sort of dedication he rarely showed his job. Sans had never seen a more jaded young monster in his life. It was the sort of attitude Sans really admired.

Burg leaned on the counter in front of them, “What can I get you? On the house, of course.” he intoned flatly, “Anything for one of the esteemed patrons of my boss.” He bit down on his cigarette and blew a thin stream of smoke through his teeth.

“i'll make it easy on ya, two burgs, a bottle of the cheap red stuff for me.” He said.

Burg blinked slowly, his eyes drifting from Sans to the kid, “Anything else?”

“nah, get a move on kid.” he waved him off.

Burg drifted over to the stove and soon had two patties sizzling gently.

Sans spun on his stool and swept his eyes over the rest of the diner. There were a couple mugs in the back booth, nursin on coffee, looked like construction workers just off the shift. All Mettaton's workers ate at The Mett free while they were on his payroll. He was a good guy for all the glitz and flash. He briefly saw a small face pressed against the glass doors, that quickly disappeared. He shook his head at that, if it was who he thought, then he'd be hearin an earful later.

“you ever had monster food before?” He asked the kid.

They nodded.

Sans blinked in surprise, “That so? Most humans I met never touched the stuff.”

They appeared to think for a spell then said in a quiet, hoarse voice, “Less to clean up.”

“hooo.” Sans sat back and shook his head, “lotta grim packed up in that sentence.”

The kid didn't seemed to care either way. They spread their hands on the counter, eyes driftn over their fingers like they was countin em.

“wasn't sure you could talk.” he wiggled his toothpick thoughtfully in his teeth. He pulled it out and tossed in on the counter, “you got a name?”

They seemed genuinely perplexed by this question. So he tried another. 

“a nickname or somethin?”

They thought a long while on this then offered, “...Frisky?”

“frisky?” he chuckled, you only got a nickname like that it you were trouble, “you gave as good as you got, huh, kid?”

They smiled with grim satisfaction.

This here was a small dog with no bark and a big bite. Sans could see them turning into a dead dog if they bit the wrong person, on the other hand, they might also end up being a dangerous dog if they learned. 

He turned back to the counter and rested his chin on his hands, yawning, “how bout i call you frisk then?”

They shrugged.

“good enough.”

Burg dropped two plates in front of em. Sans lifted the bun and eyed it critically, “no ash, burgy? i was just gettin used to the flavor.”

“Too many complaints.” Burg popped the cap off a bottle of ketchup and set in front of Sans. “Boss tried to fire me.” He smiled the grim, humorless smile of the self-damned monster, “He can't get anyone else willing to work this shift, so here I am.” Ash from his cigarette butt fell to the ground and he ground it with his shoe. 

Sans grabbed the bottle and took a big swig. He liked the tartness. Skeletons generally avoided liquids, even ones treated with magic, but it was damn nice to drink somethin sometimes. He couldn't care less how it looked.

Burg leaned on the counter in front of the kid, “Listen little buddy, let me give you some advice, don't hang around with this guy. He's trouble. You've still got time, got your whole life ahead of you. Get out while the getting's good.”

“heh.” Sans smirked.

The kid was halfway through the burger and Sans woulda bet wasn't listening to a word, 'cept they always glanced around skittish-like.

There was nobody left to chat too so Burg contentedly told his life story, he told anyone that stopped long enough to listen or didn't threaten to sock him. He grew up wantin to be an actor, tried to get in good with Metta when his star was rising and ended up here instead. Working nights in a grease joint.

“how's work on mettaton's new hotel comin?” he asked between bites.

“Why would I know? Do I look like a secretary?” He pulled out a fresh paper and pouch of tobacco, rolling an angry, ugly cigarette.

“everybody knows, no matter how busy metta is, he keeps eyes on his interests. if nothin else he stops by least once a week.” he tapped on the bottle, the sound clinked though the restaurant like a ticking clock.

Burg's face fell like a deflated balloon, “Building's going up fine, should open on time. The newspapers are excited about it.”

“a novelty. fancy place built in ebbott for monsters an humans...” Sans shook his head, “soon as the novelty fades, pooof” he waggled his fingers and chuckled morosely, “there goes business.”

Burg lit the new cigarette from the butt of the last smiling smugly. He ground out the butt under his heel and stalked back to the kitchen. There was a risin clatter from outside, the sound of a very angry lady marchin this way to give him an earful if he had to guess. He took another swig of ketchup and grinned. it was workin out to be a very interesting night indeed.

  


  



End file.
